Nemesis
by jaeEun
Summary: A continuation of the Harry Potter series from the end of 6th Year. Unexpected things are happening at Hogwarts...is this an omen of the stranger happenings to come? [DMHG] , [HPGW] , [RWPP]
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.

A shocked silence filled the air, as disbelief, warniess and enmity spread across the room like a poisonous gas blanketing all sounds.

             Then, a delighted, definitely triumphant and _mocking_ roar exploded throughout the Great Hall.

             Slytherin, for the first time in 5 very long years (for them, at least), had won the House Cup.

             During the next year, both students and teachers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would wonder if this was to be an omen of the decidedly stranger happenings to come.

             Even Ronald Weasly, of Gryffindor house, was too shocked to eat. He was in denial.

             "How _could_ Slytherin have gotten it? No, wait, don't answer that. It must have been Snape. He's so blooming biased and so totally _unfair_ that it's sickening! At least Malfoy's seemed to have matured and not banging his goblet on the table again – remember first year? That stupid, arrogant git!"

             "You're being redundant, Ron," Hermione commented absently, poking at her plate, continuously missing her food.

             Ron gaped at Hermione and demanded, "what's _wrong_ with you? That git Snape and equally idiotic Malfoy planned this, I'll bet. Gryffindor _lost_. Has that gotten through your head yet? And here I was thinking you were smart, Hermione."

             "There's no point in dwelling on it, Ron, It's over. We can't hange the past – not without a time-turner – and somehow I strongly doubt that McGonagall's going to let us acquire one for our intended purposes."

             Ron fumed inwardly, and started to mutter something that sounded suspiciously like death threats towards Malfoy and Snape under his breath.

             Anyone looking at the 'Dream Team', as Snape liked to mock them, would have noticed that they had changed, but the change was the most noticeable in Harry,

             Harry Potter – 'The Boy Who Lived' – had somehow gotten older, more mature, in the short space of this past year. He'd been so tense, so worried this year about the confrontation with Voldemort which never came. He'd become more withdrawn, and had distanced himself form everyone far too much for Hermione's liking. She guessed that he was scared – scared for them, and scared for himself that they would prove to be his weakness. She wished that Harry would understand that they – Ron, her, Ginny and countless others, would always be there for him, no matter what. What she didn't know was that Harry knew this, but also knew he would blame himself if anything happened to them because of him. He wasn't being obnoxious, or selfish, or cold – these were just the bonds of true friendship that would stretch, bend and wear thin, but only to bounce back and weave itself stronger than before.

             As Hermione sat, musing on the events of the past year, her gaze swept the room, perceiving. It returned to Harry, her original subject of contemplation, Harry, sitting besdide her, and her eyes softened. He'd been through so much already – she _wanted_ to help him, but couldn't. All she could do was watch, and be a bystander – Hermione hated not being in control.

             It seemed as if the year had flown, looking back, but at the time it had dragged on so!

             Harry had matured – nor only in manner, but also looks, as he seemed to have filled out his thinness; perhaps it was the great food, and heaps of it. He was taller now – 176cm at least, and whereas he was not muscular, he was dangerously graceful. Heads would turn every time he walked by – he was like a panther, stalking its prey – gliding, soundless, and ready. Always on the ready. His black – there was simply no other word adequate to describe it – hair and his still-bright-but-slightly-darker-green eyes  only added to this image.

             Speaking of looks – Hermione turned her head sideways to get a better look at Draco Malfoy. Ever their nemesis, always the shadow to their light, Malfoy, it seemed, had grown rapidly in popularity, especially among the girls. Hermione couldn't see what was so special about him – all she could see was the arrogance, the malice, the selfishness and the cunningness amongst other…traits he had covered himself in. She would discover, in times to come, how short-sighted and unperceiving she had been.

             To the unbiased viewer Malfoy was indeed a sight for sore eyes – his white-blond, illusionary silver had been freed from its bonds of severely gelled style to something less restrained. The result was the unearthly air Malfoy constantly emitted now. He too, had grown to a size similar to Harry's; both in build and height. Unlike Harry, however, Malfoy had a cock-sure air of self confidence about him, and that irritating smirk ever present on his face. Hermione still itched to slap it off, just for the sake of it. Many people said that Malfoy reminded them of an (?) unicorn – silver, ethereal, proud, beautiful, powerful but untouchable.

             Hermione sighed. Tomorrow, they would head for the Hogwarts Express; off to their respective summer holidays; then, the next year, their final year – who knew what it held for them?

             Time, she realized, was a magic in itself.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.

"Isn't it funny – almost the end of the year," Hermione commented.

             "What'd you mean, almost? It is – the school year anyway."

             "No – I don't feel as if the school year's _really_ finished until we've gotten through the barrier at King's cross. It has that note of finality, you know?"

             Harry grinned, putting aside his fears fro the moment. "You were always strange, Hermione."

             "Well, it's a bit hard not to go completely barmy if you're around you two as much as I am." She bantered.

             Harry just smiled indulgently and turned his head to look at the blurry countryside of England which was flying by.

Harry woke up – had he fallen asleep? – to the distinct sounds of Ron and Hermione's voices – and great, he thought, Malfoy and his entourage.

             "The Mudblood and the Weasel, huh? Oh, look! Potter's just woken up from his beauty sleep."

             Crabbe and Goyle, ever the faithful sidekicks, and as thick as ever, guffawed loudly.

             Hermione didn't bother to even acknowledge their presence. Her face when completely blank, and she continued to glance down at the book she was reading while looking through Malfoy and muttering to herself.

             "Has Granger finally started showing signs of insanity? We all knew she was, of course, but thank goodness! We'll soon be rid of this Muggle filth."

             "Get _lost_, Malfoy."

             "All in my good time, Weasel –" The rest of his sentence was interrupted by the muttering of a counter-jinx.

             Malfoy narrowed his eyes. He had to admit, the Granger girl _was_ good.

             Hermione, who had finally gotten sick of Malfoy's constant insults, had murmured the stupefy jinx. Unfortunately for her, it hadn't landed.

             She had to admit, however, she was impressed. He wasn't called the 'Prince of Slytherin' for nothing. She was impressed more than she usually would have been in this situation – she knew that Malfoy was indeed the cold-hearted serpent everyone knew him to be. What Hermione wanted to know was how he could get such excellent marks when all his time was spent in dating, then dumping.

             Oh, yes – Draco Malfoy, the elusive Prince of Slytherin who everyone wanted, but could not have. Half the girls in the school wanted him, and the other half wanted Harry. The small minority which was very_, very _small, wanted neither or someone else.

             Hermione, of course, was of the minority. She liked Harry as a good friend – one of her best – but nothing more. The same applied for Ron too. As for Malfoy – she repressed a shudder. She didn't really want to think about him. If she did, she was afraid she'd really, permanently damage him now, due to all the knowledge, and strong dislike she'd piled up, and festered, over the years. While she would have been glad – overjoyed! – at the riddance, or slight break of Malfoy's presence, she honestly didn't want all of the Malfoy-worshippers to come and drag her to a slow and painful death.

             She'd thought his arrogance reached its peak in fourth year. Obviously not, as with the formation of his own fan club (Serpent Silver), residing within the school, his arrogance had soared sky-high. It was just so irritating – the squeals and stifled screams of "Draco!" or "Oh, my _gosh._ Doesn't he look so _hot_?" constantly echoing around the place. Hermione swore the walls themselves had memorized and absorbed the sounds – there was such an excess of them. Often, she'd want to scream long and loud, in the hope of purging the air of this complete and utter n-o-n-s-e-n-s-e.

             Right now, though, strangling Malfoy was on her list of "Thing I Must Do Urgently". Either she'd have to get him out of her carriage, or she'd have to leave. Obviously the former was the preferred option. This _was_ the carriage _she_ was originally in. Malfoy was the invader.

             "Out, Malfoy."

             "Whatever makes you think I'll listen to you in a million years, Granger?"

             "Nothing. Now _get out_."

             "What, can't think properly? My charisma choking you?"

             "No. It's more like your pig-headedness that's suffocating me."

             "See, Mudblood, I'd like to suffocate you myself, but I'm afraid of staining my hands."

             "I'd be afraid of being touched by you because you'd soil my whole being. _Petrificus__ Totalus_." She muttered quickly and quietly.

             Malfoy, caught off-guard, responded just in time. His face, usually with that sneer, or devoid of emotion, showed surprise for a split second, then smoothed itself into its moulded mask again. He curtly gestured to Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, and they exited the carriage – well, Malfoy did, anyway – in a flurry of black cloaks.

             Meanwhile, a very angry Ron was barely being restrained by Harry.

             "LET ME GET AT HIM!! HE'S NOT GOING TO KNOW WHAT'S COME TO HIM. THAT FILTHY, LYING, PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A WIZARD!!!"

             "Calm down, Ron." Hermione had never told Ron, but Malfoy's insults had never meant much to her; coming from a Muggle family had its advantages. She had never fully understood how bad the word 'mudblood' was. She had a feeling Ron liked to insult Malfoy, and if she gave him the chance, well, so be it.

             "Ron, just sit down. We're almost at King's Cross." Harry said, his voice neutral.

             Ron huffed and fumed a bit, but in the end there was nothing for him to do except sit down and wait patiently for the Hogwarts Express to pull up at King's Cross.

             "See you soon, Neville!"

             "Have nice hols, Jayine!"

             "Oh, you too, Hilda!"

             "Owl me!"

             "You too! Don't forget, like last time!"

             "Oh, no. Has anyone seen my cactus?"

             "OWWWWWWW!!!!"

             "Ron, Harry! Over here!"

             "Right, Hermione! Oh, hi, Mum!"

             "Ron, dear! How was this year? And Harry, and Hermione, too! How are you all?"

             "Normal, mum. Per usua."

             "We're fine, Mrs. Weasley."

             "Harry, we'll see you soon, right? Hermione, you too. I'll send you both owls."

             "See you, Ron."

             "Bye, Ron." Harry nodded. "I see my aunt and uncle and – he grinned – no Dudley. He must've been too scared."

             Hermione laughed. "Don't be too horrible, Harry."

             "Me? Never. See you at The Burrow."

             "Can't wait. See you, Harry." Hermione sighed. Her parents were here to pick her up – their 6th year had finally ended.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.

It was night, and Safonia Lane was quiet, aside from the occasional sounds of car horns disturbing the peace of the little lane.

             Only one light apart from the street lamps could be seen shining in this street, and that was the one in Hermione Granger's room

             Yes, Hermione Granger was studying – well, reading – as usual. It was well into the third week of the holidays, and Hermione was not one to procrastinate. Upon completing assigned homework earlier on in the week, she had taken to reading all sorts of books from both her local library and the one she had conveniently found in Diagon Alley.

             The sound of talons scratching at her window made her wince. No matter how many times she heard that, she'd never grow accustomed to it. Hermione quickly walked to the window to let Errol in. She'd been waiting for a message of some sort from either Ron or Harry.

             Indeed, this was a letter from the former, just as she'd expected.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Just wondering if you're still able to come to The Burrow around Thursday next week? Harry'll be here around then to. Owl back, Mum and Ginny send regards. [I won't bother passing on Fred and George's – come and get them yourself._

_Ron._

             Promptly Hermione penned a reply, and tied it onto Errol's leg, after giving him a moment of respite. _He's getting very old_, she thought. He'd been old when she's first met him – what, five years go – and now he had only gotten older.

             She leaned over her bed to open her window, and he flew out, still a graceful creature of the night. She smiled slightly – she'd be back among her chosen world soon enough. Her parents loved her, they really did, and they tried to hard to accept that she was different to the norm; they tried to understand her, but there were things she could never explain to them. She wasn't naturally a chatty person, and had always preferred books to socializing. Not that she had anything against it – people had always seen her as strange, just for the reason that she loved books, instead of other, more 'normal' interests, and for the fact that when they were around Hermione Granger '_don't go near her – the weirdest things happened to me_' as someone so elegantly put it.

             Sometimes girls, especially, surprised her at how low they'd stoop to get what they anted. Hadn't they any self-respect or morals? Evidently not.

            Tired, having stayed up quite late for the past nights reading, she decided to go to bed early. Unbeknownst to her, though, within the next 24 hours, her life would take a 215-degree turn.

"Hermione!"

             "Hermione, are you up?"

             Hermione blearily opened her eyes – eyes that widened in shock as she registered the time

             "Oh, crud! It's nine!"

             As she dressed, she muttered to herself over the disbelief of sleeping more than eight-and-a-half hours. She'd gotten to bed at eleven-thirty last night.

             "I'm coming, Mum!"

             And so she did, hurrying down the stairs in her annoyance at over-sleeping.          

             "Hermione! Are you feeling alright? You slept for far longer than usual!"

             "I know," Hermione groaned. "Nothing wrong, though, I think I was just tired."

             "Well, then, that's a relief. Now, sweetie, Dad and I are both leaving for work soon – will you be alright?"

             "Honestly, Mum, I'm going to be 17 soon. Yes, I'll be fine."

             "Find something to eat in the pantry somewhere – I really do have to go grocery shopping today."

             "As I've been telling you for the past week," Hermione said teasingly.

             Taslia Granger smiled. "Oh, I know, I know, but I'm just so busy these days. Oh well. Bye, sweetie."

             "Bye, Mum."

             "Danyul! Don't you want to get to work on time? Hurry!"

             "Coming, Lia – Morning, My-one."

             "Morning – bye, Dad!" She rolled her eyes at the endearment.

             "Now, Hermione, are you sure you're alright?"

             "Yes," Hermione said, a little exasperated. "I'll be _fine_."

             "Well, alright…"

             "Have a nice day! Don't worry about me!" Finally, having reassured her mother to an extent, her parents headed off to their respective works, and she went inside, to eat breakfast, first and foremost, and perhaps read some more of 'Hogwarts: A Detailed History'.

             As she was eating and reading, her eyelids felt so heavy again – _was_ there something wrong with her? – and she slipped into a state of sleep.

             Hermione opened her eyes; how long she had been sleeping she did not know.

             The space – the air, around her was a queer mix of blue and red, blending, swirling and combining to create a harmony which instantly calmed Hermione down to a degree that she was able to collect her wits about her, and remember that she was a 6th Year witch, and one from Hogwarts at that. _A befuddled mind will help no-one. Keep calm._ As she calmed, she noticed the fog of colours clearing, fading into a colourless void. She felt as if a movie was playing in front of her eyes, and her eyes only – a movie full of colour, light and sounds. Everything besides her and the memory-movie didn't exist, well, not in this world, not in this time.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.

The memory-movie screen cleared, and Hermione could see, hear and feel the young woman's emotions, her surroundings, her thoughts – as if they were her own; an exceptional insight. She tensed, uneasy, then tried to relax – she had been brought here for a reason. She may as well find out why.

_The young woman – her features were clearer now, and Hermione could see they vaguely resembled that of hers. Obviously, the lovely, smooth dark-blue hair the woman was graced with hadn't been passed down to Hermione, but her manner and general features resembled that of Hermione's too much to be called a coincidence. She stood by the hearth, her arms protectively encircling her pregnant belly, as if by doing so she could keep it from all harm. She stared blankly into the merry, dancing fire, and hated it for being the same as ever, when everything around her was changing. Her emotions seemed to be very much out of control these days – it was most likely the babe._

_Oh – the babe. _My poor child…_ the woman sighed, and sat down in a nearby chair. She so wished she didn't have the Sight sometimes – it could really be a burden. Like now. What she'd just seen, she was better off not knowing. Now, she knew that her child would be a girl. However, she now also knew that they would be separated not long after the babe's birth, and that the babe's decisions, and that of the Malfoy heir's, would be a major factor in either the world's healing or demise. The outcome was not clear – the future never was, not even to those of the magical world. However, the fact that hurt the most was that she and Derig would be separated from Hermione; they'd decided to call her if she was a girl, which she was. It meant 'Well born'; how fitting._

_They wouldn't be there to teach her first words, nor would they be able to see hr walk on unsteady feet, or hear her gurgle, scream or chuckle. They wouldn't be there to comfort her, to assure that everything would be alright. It just wasn't fair– the fact that this baby would actually survive, and they wouldn't be there to walk every step of her young life with her. She wanted to hurl things – anything! Justas long as it shattered, with that lovely, satisfying sound of something breaking. She was in the midst of contemplating throwing that useless glass at the wall when warm arms surrounded her and the babe. Saphe instinctively leaned back into Derig's embrace and the couple stood, silent, for a few moments._

'You know it's not good for the baby when you think unpleasant thoughts,'_ he murmured. A striking man, Derig de Vuis was plainly the father of Hermione – the same russet hair they possessed, but his was slightly lighter, and more controlled by way of mass. Also tall, and slight, Derig was a graceful man with the hidden power of a panther, ready to strike._

'She's not gong to be completely ours, anyway,'_ she threw back bitterly. _'She'll be going to some Muggle foster-home, where who knows what they'll teach her, and she'll know nothing about our kind, or who we are –'

'But you know why. And it's inevitable. To make a choice, especially ones as important as our Hermione's going to have to make – you know they shouldn't be influenced one way or the other. But with the Malfoy heir so dead-set against Mudbloods, Dumbledore's asked us to send Hermione to a Muggle family. Don't worry, it's Dumbledore…he'll have found the best place for our child. We will be able to see her again, we'll get her back, remember? Prior to her 7th year in Hogwarts…we'll get her back then…you'll be able to see her off to school…And we'll love her for all the time she wasn't with us…'

'She won't be ours…'

'She will be. More than we'll ever know.'

'Yes…you are right – she's ours. Always and Forever – life – it's such a simple, yet confoundingly complex thing.'

'You would have it any other way?'

'No…no. Life must've been given to us by someone – I have yet to find out who. It's too dangerous, too consequential to meddle with.'

_Derig smiled – a sad smile – no matter what he said, the loss of his daughter would hit him hard, and he didn't like seeing Saphe this way. They had already lost 3 children, Hermione being the fourth – and to know that she would live – it was more than he'd ever hoped for, but…the nature of humans is always greedy…they wanted more._

_Taken from them or not, the babe was, and always would be, theirs, just as he'd told Saphe._

ºtwo-and-a-half-weeks-later º

_Saphe screamed, straining to push the babe from her womb, but, unfortunately, little Hermione proved to have a stubborn streak already. Derig's hand was about to be broken in many places, so extreme was the force she'd squeezed it with. Not that Derig felt it – every time Saphe screamed, he'd feel as if her were being wrenched apart, bit by bit. This painful anticipations was more excruciating than the Cruciatus Curse. _'I see the head, Ma'am!' _this reverie was broken by Kris, the mediwitch. Saphe started to sow her breathing. Derig just sat there, feeling utterly useless, so tried to content himself – well, his conscience – by tying to calm Saphe down. She groaned, and – the mediwitch grimaced as she noted the cord around the infant's neck. She would have to get rid of that, and fast. It had been found that Saphe's opening was too small, and then to complicate matters even further, the infant had been found to be in the wrong position. Now, it was the umbilical cord around its neck. _What next? _Kris sighed, and with a sureness coming from years of experience, Kris deftly looped the cord over the babe's neck, and severed it quickly as the shoulders emerged. _About time, too,_ she thought – it had been a most difficult and unusual birth. To be quite honest, Kris hadn't been sure the babe, or the mother, would live. Kris felt a wave of sympathy for Saphe – 3 miscarriages already, and not a thing anyone could've done about it. She admired Saphe and Derig for willing to try again._

_After the shoulders had emerged, Kris helped Saphe by gently puling the baby from the womb. It was a tiny girl – very contrary, very stubborn, and very willing to stay alive. She knew this would be no mere ditz of a girl, to be pushed over by a pretty face and even prettier words. She wiped the blood from the body and passed her onto Derig, whose nerves look quite frazzled; close to breaking point, and whose expression was one of mingled joy and sadness. _Ah, well. The de Vuis family had always been strange.__

_Dumbledore came about a week-and-a-half later to pay his compliments to the parents of the baby whom he was just about to take from them. _How ironic_, he thought. _Paying compliments about the baby, then almost immediately taking her away. I don't like it, but it can't be helped. _Then he sighed._ Goodness. I seem to be doing this a lot lately. At least little Hermione has her parents.

_Dumbledore was greeted at the door by one of the house elves, and directed to the sitting room, where the new family spent most of their time. As Dumbledore entered, he suddenly felt old – very old. Saphe wore a very determinedly strained, determinedly resigned smile, and Derig's face was a smooth mask of nothingness. He had better get this over and done with._

'Saphe! And Derig. I hope you, and Hermione, of course, are all well?'

'Yes, of course, Sir,' _Saphe replied, her jaw aching from the effort to hold her tears in._ 'She's asleep now, Sir, and would cause the least fuss if you'd take her now,' _Saphe swallowed hard. She'd been so determined to not cry, to be strong, at least for Derig, but it wasn't working. If Dumbledore didn't take the babe now –_

Albus Dumbledore carefully reached for the baby and cradled her in his arms.

- _she'd__ never be able to let go of Hermione._

'She will be fine. I'm so sorry – and – thank you. Always remember that this is temporary – you'll be able to see Hermione soon.'_ Even the ever-present twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes had faded._

'Yes…it is temporary…' _Saphe's voice was carefully muffled._

'Until we meet again,' _Dumbledore murmured._

'Until then,'_ Derig answered._


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.

_ 'Until then…until then…until then…'_

These last words echoed around Hermione, reminding her of a promise, as she came to awareness of her surroundings. The last thing, the last sensation, which remained of the memory-movie was that of mingled anticipation, joy, wariness, sadness and of a long waiting nearing its end. She had no idea what this could mean – had she been adopted? _That woman – Saphe – looked_ _too much like me to be coincidence, even though her hair was_ much, much_ nicer. And besides. Hermione isn't that common a name. Was I that baby? Why…for what reason…did Dumbledore take me away from my parents? And he said something like 'seem to be doing this a lot lately'?? _She narrowed her eyes. _Harry? Taking babies away from parents…I can only think of Harry…especially that year, when Harry and I were both born…_She considered the porridge she had been eating, decided it was too puffy and watery to eat, and, after stabbing it with her spoon to see whether the liquid would ooze out of it, she dumped it in the sink. She'd been appreciating how good the Hogwarts food really was more and more these past weeks.

Sighing, with a day of nothing planned to look forward to, she settled in her chair near the open-ended fire [she'd gotten connected to the Floo Network a couple of years ago], and started to finish reading _Hogwarts: A Detailed History_.

"Derig, do I look presentable?"

"As presentable as always. You look like the reincarnation of Rowena Ravenclaw. Beautiful, sharp, intelligent…Nothing to worry about."

"I look like Rowena because I'm her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter. Hermione's her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter. I wonder what she looks like… We haven't been allowed any contact at all, even though I did send her some form of warning this morning…"

"Always prepared," Derig laughed, apprehension ringing in his voice, even though he hid it well. The only reason Saphe heard it was she'd been his wife for too long for him to hide anything from her. The fact that she was unnaturally inclined towards perceptiveness helped her, as well.

"Well then. Let's go, shall we?"

Derig did not answer; instead, he inclined his head in a mock-servitude way, indicating that they should head towards the fireplace.

"Hermione de – Granger, 23 Safonia Lane, [suburb in England], England!" Derig spoke clearly into the fire. As expected, it turned a sparkling green colour, and Saphe and Derig de Vuis stepped into the fire – one more fireplace towards their soon-to-be-reclaimed child.

Hermione lifted her eyes from _Hogwarts: A Detailed History_ and looked out the window. It was summer, so therefore the sun was shining brightly, determined to give summer its all before inevitably losing to the calls of winter. She would have gone out, but she was feeling too lazy today – and it was quite, exceptionally hot. There must be days for even the hardest worker to rest, to slack off. Today was one of those days for Hermione. She would sit…and read…and lounge…and eat…and read… those thoughts were so lazy, and surrounded her in a cool haze which gave her brain time to cool off and relax, that in normal circumstances she would have slept, but as this was too hot a day…

Something – someone – two someones…had just appeared from the fireplace. No – 'appeared' wasn't the exact word for it. They had the simple certainty which said they knew they were making an entrance – the air of one who had been born this way.

The woman – she had a midnight-blue mantle on, with her hood drawn so that it covered her head, so Hermione couldn't see, and therefore recognise, her face, but the man who'd stepped out just behind her was tall, and carried himself in a self-assured way. Not cocky, but just self-assured. He was still noticeably handsome, but Hermione was able to see that he would have been much more handsome in his younger years – someone that would turn heads anywhere they went. Once he was fully out of the fireplace, he glanced around, seemingly superficial curiosity, but his eyes shone, taking in details. On noticing Hermione, he grinned, and winked.

Also surveying the room, the woman removed her hood from her face. Her dark blue eyes rested on Hermione, strong, loving. Her hair was the same dark, dark blue as the woman in her dream's had been –

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, as she considered this small detail. Yes – her eyes were the same – large, with slightly tilted-up corners that made her look more like a cat than an Asian. Creamy white skin, a contrast to the transparent white of some, and also contrasting with the light tan of Hermione's. She was of medium height, and slender, so she looked taller than she really was. Long, but slightly thin, dark lashes framed her eyes, and the finely defined eyebrows completed the picture. Her nose was pointed upward, so that she seemed to have a snobby air. Pale, full lips and high cheekbones only added to her beauty. _This woman.__ What do I feel? She's sad…a lingering sadness…which has only recently begun to fade…_

"Hermione – er – Granger, I believe?"

Hermione simply lifted her eyes to meet the man's clear gaze. _Why did he falter when he said my surname?_

"If you know my name, why don't I know yours? I don't think we've been introduced…?" the last was said with a hint of a question.

"Oh...that's easy… Derig de Vuis, Miss Hermione." Hermione inclined her head. The woman saw this, and noted that indeed, the de Vuis and the Ravenclaw blood did run in her. That slight inclination of the head – it had been exactly the same as her own would have been.

"Saphe de Vuis ni Ravenclaw, Hermione," a soft smile accompanied this introduction.

"You are…a descendant…of Rowena Ravenclaw?"

Saphe smiled. _Darn her…why is it that the beauty of the world is not evenly distributed?_ "Yes," her smile got wider, more childish, as a dimple appeared in her right cheek. "And so are you."

Hermione blinked. "Pardon? I – _Pardon_?" All that Hermione seemed capable of doing now was to rapidly blink her eyes.

Saphe raised her eyes to Hermione's. "Hermione de Vuis…it's been so long."

_Hermione de Vuis…why is that name so familiar…?_

_They're remainders of a past, long forgotten, only to be remembered again._

_Yes…I was a baby. My birth…was long, and tiring. I think…I almost died? Did Mum?_

_Did you – did she? Sift through these memories…_

_No…no, she didn't…and I obviously didn't…_

_A fireplace…a hearth…so warm.___

_You were…both…so happy…Father…Mum…_

_I could feel it, day after day…_

_But…tears…always threatening to spill…___

_Poised…brimming…_

_A dam…_

_You…were crying…_

_Someone…took me…_

_Did you let it happen? What was I to you?_

_You…were my child. You are my child._

_The ribbon which joined us…_

_While weaving itself…_

_A soft, pastel…pink…soon to become bright red…_

_Fading…as the distance grew greater…_

_Faded…_

_That ribbon…it was on the verge of bright red…_

_It frayed…and faded…_

_Dull…_

_Faded…_

_Pulled, and stretched…_

_Unrecognisable…___

_Forgotten…_

_Snap!_

_The ribbon…floated away…_

_Then…that dream?_

_It wasn't a coincidence._

_Coincidence…coincidence…coincidence…_

_A woman…her hair the exact same shade as yours…her eyes…the same emotion…suppressed now…_

_A man…his hair identical to mine…but, even messy…it's classy…his posture…the same…_

_The missing pieces of the puzzle – have just slotted into their places._

Saphe smiled again; Hermione had never met a person whose feelings could be expressed in so many smiles. Her eyes overflowed with emotion.

Hermione must have had a question in her eyes, or perhaps Saphe just wanted to confirm it – for herself, as well as Hermione.

"Yes…What you are thinking now…You will find that it is true."

"Then…but that means…"

"That…we are your birth parents," Derig finished.


End file.
